


Christmas Warmth

by Moosegirl6



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:24:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosegirl6/pseuds/Moosegirl6
Summary: This is a Christmas story written for the 2015 Robin Hood Secret Santa that I'm only just uploading on here! It's a bit melancholy, but hopefully still sweet!





	

The woods were grey with rain. It dripped its way down through the trees, making everything slightly damp and completely miserable. Even the leaves on the trees looked downcast.

The camp had been especially miserable, nothing more than a make-shift, if well crafted, shelter amongst the trees, and the gang doing nothing other than delaying going out in the rain.

The time was filled with Much’s complaining, about how the rain brought the cold, how it made the fire sputter, how it made them all wet, how although the cave was not so far away they could easily find shelter elsewhere, perhaps with some villagers willing enough to give up their home for the evening; they had saved enough lives for there to be someone grateful enough to make room for them in their home, surely.

Robin had borne it in good humour, responding to Much with as much kindness and patience as he had left, but he could see it grating on the others’ nerves. They joked about sending Much on ahead alone to find somewhere, clearly longing for some quiet in the rainstorm.

Robin had silenced their joking and stopped Allen mid-sentence as he was making a case for just using Much for kindling, since there was not a dry stick anywhere in the forest.

“Go on to the cave without me, I have business elsewhere.” He said to them.

Allen’s mouth hung open mid-sentence as he swung his head to look at the others, from Djaq to Will to Little John, none of whom were quite as surprised as him.

“Now?” Allen asked, his face hardly changing position from his previous surprised look.

“Yes, now.” Robin responded impatiently, “I would not bring it up if it was not now.”

“But Master, the cave!” Much cried, looking outraged.

Robing sighed and tried not to roll his eyes whilst simultaneously supressing a grin. “I won’t be long, Much, I just need to have a quick word with someone.” He said calmly.

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” Much’s voice managed to rise an octave within the four words that he spoke, his indignation almost making Robin chuckle. The holiday had little bearing on their plans. The rain held more authority over them than the date, and they didn’t have much to celebrate currently.

“Yes, I know, but this can’t wait. Look, I’ll meet you at the cave, alright? I won’t be long.” He picked up his bow and slung it over his shoulder, and pulled his hood down even lower before ducking out from the almost-dry shelter of branches and cloth they had made amongst the trees, and into the downpour. 

In seconds the camp was just yet another grey-green blur in the distance, although Robin could still hear Allan and Much’s voices. Just as he reached the crest of a hill, Little John’s voice reached him, and he knew that his orders were being carried out.

The forest in the rain was another world. The animals which normally populated it with movement and noise had all disappeared, leaving it to the clouds to disturb the foliage, and Robin couldn’t help but feel unnerved. It is harder to hear someone sneaking up behind you in a storm.

There shouldn’t be anyone roaming the forest, however, not today. It was Christmas Eve after all, as Much had pointed out, and in such a downpour it would be difficult to get to a well for water, let alone for the Sheriff to get guards to patrol the forest.

And yet Robin still felt that ever-watching eye on him, especially now, as he neared Knighton hall.

He had put Marian and her father in danger too much lately, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin their Christmas.

As he stood at the edge of the forest, hidden behind a large oak, he could just about make out the house through the gloom. The rain acted as a barrier between Robin and Knighton. Everything was grey and unclear, even as the sun reached its peak in the sky. 

Through the swirling downpour he could see a light through a window, flickering like candlelight.

He had not hoped that a window would be left open. A latch not fully pulled across perhaps, or a gap under a shutter which he could pry open, but a full window, open wide enough for Robin to see the shape of someone standing just at the edge of the window.

From where he stood at the edge of the forest, it looked like they had their back to the outside, an elbow resting on the sill, head dropped back against the wall to their left. From the curve of their hip and the curl of their hair, Robin knew it had to be her. It took him a moment to try to look beyond her, so fast was his heart beating at the sight, but it was fruitless. She was the only thing visible against the light.

Robin took a moment amongst the trees to catch his breath – from the hurried journey here, and from the momentary thought which had captured him, of being inside the house with Marian, sitting beside the fire, able to give her his gift in person, able to give her something more than just something pretty he had found in the forest, listening to the sound of the wind and feeling safe and happy.   
The moment passed and he slipped out of the treeline and across the yard.

His movements were quick and he carried himself up to the house silently. He stood under the eaves next to the open window with his back pressed to the wall.

He turned his head towards the window and listened.

There was a man’s voice, speaking very quietly, but very close. He must have been standing just where Robin was on the opposite side of the wall. It took him a moment to realise it was Gisbourne.

“-spend tomorrow in Nottingham?” His voice was very close and Robin could feel his temperature rise.

“You are too kind.” Marian’s voice was clear, and Robin could hear the half-formed excuse in it. He turned his head to look at her. She had tied her hair back and there was holly placed in it somehow. Robin almost laughed. It seemed entirely too frivolous a hair-fastening for Marian.

“So you accept.” Gisbourne’s sounded pleased.

“I cannot yet accept,” Marian hesitated, “I must speak to my father.”

“But what is there to ask? You are both welcome. And what would you do otherwise?” Robin almost snorted at Gisbourne’s idiocy.

“My father is frail, I do not want him to feel obliged to make himself uncomfortable, especially on Christmas.”

“I will send a carriage.” The answer was quick and, as Robin could see by the clench of Marian’s jaw, unwelcome.

“We have a carriage,” Marian replied testily, “It is the discomfort of leaving a warm house for a draughty castle. He should not be travelling these days.”

“Well then you should come alone.” Robin saw Gisbourne place an arm on Marian’s arm.

“I cannot leave him!” Marian’s outrage finally matched Robin’s as she stepped away from Gisbourne’s touch.

“I am sorry, that was insensitive.” Gisbourne had followed her taking a step forwards, and was now standing directly in front of the window. If Robin stepped forward he would be standing directly behind him. A risky position, but one with many an opportunity for mischief.

He stepped forward.

He could smell horse and saddle oil at this distance. If he leant forwards he could kiss the back of his head. How did Marian stand him?

“It is alright.” Marian’s calm voice pulled Robin from being overwhelmed by Gisbourne.

“Perhaps you would allow me to visit again tomorrow then, instead.” It was not, Robin noted, a question.

“I do not think we have any plans which would prevent that.” Marian said slowly, clear that she was trying desperately to think of something which would, in fact, prevent that.

“Then it is settled. I will return tomorrow.”

Gisbourne moved away from the window and towards Marian, leaving Robin exposed for just a second, directly in Marian’s line of sight. They locked eyes and he winked before ducking down. He smiled to himself at how flustered she had looked, only partly because of him, he knew, but the glimmer of panic and joy was what he lived for.

He moved out from under the window and stood up. Marian was seeing Gisbourne to the door now. Robin slid himself in through the window and stowed himself behind a tapestry on the wall besides the stairs. After a couple of moments of polite goodbyes, Gisbourne was gone and Marian had turned back into the room. Robin heard her scurry over the window and quickly extracted himself and moved to lounge on the stairs.

“Robin?” Marian called in a hushed tone out the window.

“Yes, my love?” he answered, smirking on the stairs.

She yelped and span to face him.

“Robin!”

Robin laughed and stood up.

Marian folded her arms and tried to scowl at him.

“Why are you here Robin?”

He took a step closer and held out the parcel that he had hidden in his coat, protected from the rain, and wrapped in green cloth.

“Merry Christmas.”

Marian looked from his face to the parcel and took it carefully.

Robin hoped that she would understand it. That it wasn’t just something he had found and thought might be suitable, but it was something which reminded him of her, and – he hoped - reminded her of him, something beautiful, something fresh and alive. Something even the rain and the cold couldn’t destroy.

Marian slowly pulled the cloth away to reveal a branch of mistletoe. Remarkably it hadn’t been too squashed by Robin’s journey through the forest and still looked bright and beautiful.

He looked at her face and saw her smile before she remembered he was watching. She turned quickly before he could speak and strode to the mantelpiece.

“It is very beautiful. Thank you.” She said to the fire as she pinned the branch to the ribbons tied over the fire as an attempt at decoration.

“Marian.”

“Robin, thank you, I-”  Marian had turned back to him as she spoke, but when she looked at him, properly for the first time she stopped, “You’re soaking wet.” She frowned at the puddle forming around him on the floor.

“Well it is raining.”

He smiled, a proper smile with the usual mischief supressed.

Marian laughed.

“I know that. But I didn’t expect a puddle.”

She folded the cloth carefully and placed it on the table.

“Perhaps you should sit by the fire. Do you have time? My father is resting, he won’t mind.” There was a small crease between her eyebrows as she looked at him with concern, pulling one of the chairs closer to the fire.

“I am at your service.”

“Robin.” She sighed. Then she looked out of the window and frowned again. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Robin restrained himself. It was too easy to make fun right now. He allowed himself a small laugh before answering, “The gang are heading to the cave. Don’t worry, it is dry there.”

“I was not worried, I was simply wondering how long you would drip all over our floor.” She looked away from him but sat herself down next to him.

Neither one spoke for a moment, everything hanging between them. If not for the Sheriff, if not for the war if Robin was honest with himself, they would be sitting before their own fire in Locksley manor. Robin let himself get lost in the fire, and it wasn’t until Marian said his name that he drew himself out of revere.

“Robin.” Her voice was not soft, but he heard the pain in it. It would not be hard for her to be thinking the same thoughts as him.

“I wish I could give you this.” He murmured. From the look on her face he knew she was thinking the same, but he couldn’t help himself. “A home, a warm fire. Somewhere safe.”

“Robin.”

His heart gave a wrench at the pain in her voice.

“I’m sorry. Don’t worry about me. It’s Christmas.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“Why was Gisbourne here?”

There weren’t many things he could have brought up that would have wiped her pain from her eyes, but the mention of Guy of Gisbourne did just that, replacing any pain with irritation and weariness.

“To invite us for Christmas dinner. He was not unkind but I cannot bear anyone at the moment.”

“Especially not Guy of Gisbourne.”

“He is not all bad.” Marian’s defence was weakened by her previous visible frustration.

“Not good enough to tempt you to dinner though.” Robin teased, letting a smirk grace his lips again.

His name on her lips was a warning, “Robin.”

“He is a scoundrel, Marian.” He threw out casually, watching the fire so he wouldn’t have to watch her grow angry, “I don’t know why you still associate with him.”

“He is a friend.” She said firmly.

“A friend you can’t bear to spend more than 5 minutes with.”

“That is not true, he had business elsewhere, plus it is hard to have a conversation with you staring at me from outside.”

“And it is hard not to stare.” He turned and looked at her again, finding his words to be true. She looked lovely in the firelight.

“Do you not have to return to your fellow outlaws?” she asked snappily.

“Yes, and soon, but first I had to see you.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Marian, I know it is hard, but the king will return before long and all will be set right.”

“Robin.” She sighed and then said no more.

The crack of the fire and the drum of the rain filled the silence, as Robin stole a moment to just hold her hand in his.

“How I would rather stay here with you.” He murmured.

Her cheeks were red, from the fire or from the talking.   
“Then stay.”

“I cannot stay long. My gang are expecting me.” He reminded her, “And,” he couldn’t help smiling again, “I do not think your father would all too pleased by my being here.”

Marian looked returned his smile, “No, you seem to bring misfortune with you, wherever you go.

“And it is better that you are safe.”

“But I am not safe, not with Guy sniffing around.” Robin tried not to be pleased when she frowned at his name.

“Come with me.” His voice was hushed, and he was smiling but the wish was real.

“I am not safe in the forest either.” She smirked back at him.

He laughed, “Well at least we would be not-safe together.”

Marian laughed, and Robin noticed how her eyes lit up. “I had hoped for so long that we would be.”

“You wanted to be unsafe together?” he asked, “That is a bizarre wish.” He said playfully, shaking his head at her.

“No,” Marian half-laughed, “just together. I was thinking earlier, about our betrothal.”

“It was at Christmas.” Robin nodded at the decorations on the wooden mantelpiece.

“Yes.” She was more serious now, her expression heavier than before, “You brought me mistletoe.”

“And you very sweetly kissed me under it.” He leant forwards resting his free hand on his thigh, grinning at her.

“And _you_ very decidedly kissed _me_ under it.” Her eyebrows were raised and her lips were pursed but Robin could see the blush she was hiding beneath it all.

He laughed, “You acted first.” He accused.

“I did not!” She cried, her mouth falling open at the injustice, “You had just proposed!”

“Yes, and then you jumped upon me and kissed me.” Robin threw a hand in the air in mock outrage, still laughing.

Marian pursed her lips again and sat straight against the back of her chair. “I do not recall that.”

Robin smiled and leant forwards again.   
“I do.”

It was a moment before she replied, but when she did it was not with words; it was with the gentle embrace of her hands around his, and it was the smile on her lips.

There was a dangerous moment when it looked like Robin was going to have to kiss her, so instead he said,  
“You know, some would consider kissing under mistletoe a contract of marriage.”

Marian’s smile dropped and she looked away, “Robin, it cannot be.”

“And why not? Because Guy of Gisbourne hopes for your company at dinner?” He had not meant to sound so angry, but he could not easily let his Marian be taken from him under his own nose.

Marian said nothing but he could see her jaw clench and her hands tighten on his.

“Marian, I have never forgotten you. I have not forgotten our betrothal.” When she looked at him sharply, accusingly, he sighed and spoke heavily, “I know I left, but I did return and if not for the Sheriff we would be spending Christmas at Locksley and we would be sitting in front of our own fire, with children scurrying around our feet. It is not meant to be like this.”

“Children do not grow to walking as quickly as you imagine.” Her words were dismissive but Robin was sure she was picturing those children as she stared into the fire.

Robin smiled. “You know what I meant. We would have had a life, if not for the Sheriff and if not for Gisbourne.” He saw her frown again, but couldn’t help himself. “You fill my thoughts and are the largest portion of my cause to hate Gisbourne. I know it cannot be now, I know I have put obstacles between us, but someday, when the king returns, when I am returned, why can it not then?”

He was sat on the very edge of his seat, his hand still clenched between hers, staring at her face, so when she turned sharply and spoke angrily he felt the full weight of it.

“But that may never happen!”

“And so we do not allow ourselves to hope?”

“We do not allow ourselves to be caught up in dreams.” Her tone was cold and Robin could feel her shutting herself away. “Robin, thank you for this gift, but you know as well as I do that we have such a small hope.”

Robin heard the dismissal, and he felt her warms hands slip from his, but all he heard was that word – hope.

“Then you admit it.” His voice was quiet, but not without amusement.

“Admit what?” she asked, tired and distracted.

“That there is hope for us.” Robin said firmly, before standing up.

Marian just looked at him.

He grinned at her, before offering out his hand to her. She huffed and rolled her eyes, but took it and stood before him.

“Of course there is hope. There has always been hope.” She murmured.

Robin’s grin widened and he reached out and placed a hand on her waist. He heard her small intake of breath and saw her blush and his grin spread even more.

She frowned at him and muttered, all the while letting herself be drawn into him.

“Shut up.” She whispered, shaking her head even as she angled it to his.

Robin gave one last laugh before gently pressing his lips to hers.

The fire cracked, and the storm continued, but for a moment that didn’t matter.

And perhaps, just for Christmas, because of mistletoe, and because of warmth in a storm, although they did not have the security of a home and a life and of children, they still had hope, and however small that was enough for them both.

 


End file.
